A Breach in his Heart
by Zormikea
Summary: This story follows the ties between Maxwell Trevelyan and Commander Cullen. Both of them warriors with similar goals, they quickly become friends. However, there seems to be more to it, and while the soon to be Inquisitor may reluctantly understand and try dealing with it, the Commander is a completely different case. Male human Inquisitor/Cullen. Rated M for later chapters.
1. Chapter 1

_Hello._

_The idea for this story came to me gradually while I was playing the Inquisition. It appears to me that even though the romance options in the game are greatly limited, there are enough scenes that make your thoughts wander._

_This story follows the ties between Maxwell Trevelyan (this is the default name for a human male inquisitor, so I'm going to use it) and Commander Cullen. Both of them warriors with similar goals, they quickly become friends. However, there seems to be more to it, and while the soon to be Inquisitor may reluctantly understand and try dealing with it, the Commander is a completely different case._

_Rated M for future events. _

_DA:I belongs to BioWare._

_P.S.: I hope you will forgive me my mistakes. English is not my first language, but I really love it._

* * *

><p>Something felt wrong, he was sure of it. But then again, pretty much everything lately felt wrong. As far as his memory stretched, it started with the rift he fell out of, barely conscious and feeling like he'd put his entire left arm into a boiling pot. The pain was unbearable enough to take him out instantly, which he was thankful for, considering the alternative. When he came around for the second time, a woman appeared out of nowhere and wouldn't stop yelling at him, demanding answers he hadn't even had time to start thinking about. Not that it would work – he had no memories about being inside the rift anyway, nor did he remember how he got there or where he'd been before that, so he was just suffering for nothing. He was only aware of the severe pain in his hand, obscure green light trying to devour it, and <em>dear Maker, can she please just lose her voice already?<em>

He didn't even believe in the Maker that much. Probably the reason his request was never fulfilled.

After way too much time of scaring his poor soul she finally took pity on him and told him that the sky was torn open, bright green light connecting whatever there was inside to the ground. Demons and evil spirits were pouring out of the Breach like angry bees from a hive, attacking everything that came into sight. After briefly describing the situation she added that everyone considered him guilty of causing the entire mess.

Seeker Cassandra, the woman who'd yelled at him and thus became the reason of his headache for the rest of the day – _that_ he was sure of – led him to a rift, and it turned out, miraculously, that his left hand learned to close such things professionally while he was out. That knowledge came to him in the most sudden manner when an elf by the name Solas grabbed his wrist and raised his hand towards the glowing thing. That action alone made him extremely surprised, since elves only so rarely showed anything besides fear in the place he grew up. He was so taken aback he tore his hand away as soon as it was possible. Solas never showed any reaction to that, if he'd even felt something in the first place.

Then there was that pride demon, which almost killed him when he was trying to close another rift by himself. He was barely able to keep his life, falling into blackness again once the fight was over. Just before fainting he thought that if he'd ever wake up again, he'd do his best to make things right. First thing he did upon waking up was making an elf girl scared, and he hadn't even meant to do that. She fell to her knees and refused to calm down no matter how he tried to make her believe she was safe. Maybe he wasn't in such a good condition to make anybody feel safe.

When he was finally able to make it outside, he found out that he had suddenly become famous. Apparently, his glory bloomed from the tale about him killing a demon and closing the rift. His whole being twisted in all the wrong ways from a mere thought of it; he didn't want any of that. And by no means was he the Herald of Andraste; the way people looked at him, their eyes full of hope, fear and recognition – all of that only made him tense. His steps wide, eyes glued to the ground – that's how he made it to the chantry. Most heroic behavior.

In the chantry he almost waved goodbye to his own life _again_. Whoever was torturing him with those death threats could've shown more determination or just leave him alone already.

So yes, taking all of that into consideration, maybe _this_ was just a small part of 'wrong' as well. He only needed to find out what _this_ was. He was pretty sure everything felt more or less fine before he entered the room.

"…she's our Spymaster."

"Tactfully put, Cassandra."

Silence dawned upon the room, and it took a moment for Maxwell to realize that the people he was talking to were waiting for his response.

"Glad to meet you," he said, feeling completely awkward.

Thankfully, after that the discussion of the matter at hand resumed, and he buried the uneasy feeling under a pile of raising questions, his glance sliding down to the table with two huge maps on it. Orlais and Ferelden. The thing they were dealing with was unbelievably huge.

There was the Breach in the sky, and now there also was the Inquisition. The establishment of the Inquisition did protect Maxwell's life from the most unwelcomed ending, but it also made the Chantry extremely angry – a problem that was further worsened by the rumor of Maxwell being chosen by Andraste herself. The Chantry turned its back on the Inquisition, calling them a bunch of heretics, and the Herald of Andraste ended up being an abyss that prevented any form of alliance from happening.

As a result, there was a suggestion of siding with the rebel mages – the 'darker' side of the world and the worst enemy of the Chantry. Coming from the Ambassador Josephine and sister Leliana, it was reluctantly supported by Cassandra. Commander Cullen, however, being a former templar himself, wasn't very fond of that idea. _What am I even doing here, _Maxwell thought. _An Ambassador, a Spymaster, a Commander and a Seeker – just how do_I_ belong here? _He hardly had any idea of what was going on besides the huge green gap in the sky. Compared to the library of knowledge these people possessed in their heads, he only had a small shabby book with a couple of pages written in nasty and small handwriting. On the other hand, that was clearly an underestimation. He wasn't_ that_ bad.

"…quite the title, isn't it? How do you feel about that?"

"What?"

Maxwell's eyes shot up. Commander Cullen was standing across the table, looking slightly concerned and probably a bit offended by the fact that the Herald of Andraste somehow managed to lose the train of what was meant to be a serious conversation.

"Your title. Does it bother you?" The Commander repeated.

"Ah. I don't… really know," Maxwell answered. He hadn't really thought about that yet, he only knew the bell of uncomfortableness rang whenever anyone called him the Herald of Andraste. It was probably the weight of people's hopes. Maxwell wasn't used to be relied on – a trait that came from being the youngest child in the Trevelyan family. Younger children were the ones who relied on older people, and his family was noble on top of that.

The Commander nodded, and there was a moment of brief silence between them because neither seemed to know what to add to that part of the conversation.

"There is something you can do," Leliana offered helpfully. "A Chantry cleric by the name of Mother Giselle has asked to speak with you. She is not far and knows those involved. Her assistance could be invaluable."

"Why would she help us?" Maxwell asked, frowning. As far as he knew, no one from the Chantry would want to deal with a bunch of declared heretics; it instantly felt like a trap. However, he didn't think anyone would want to get him trapped just yet. And the whereabouts of the Inquisition wasn't such a big secret anyway – if anyone wanted to come and get him, they could come and try it without turning to pointless traps.

"I understand she is a reasonable sort," Leliana assured him further. "Perhaps she does not agree with her sisters?"

"I guess that will need some checking," Maxwell agreed. "I will go and look for her. And I will certainly try to close any rifts I might find on my way," he added just in case.

"Yes, and I will be coming with you," Cassandra added, her voice tense with distrust. Maxwell could understand that. Cassandra was a strong woman, a Seeker, a leader, the most important person in the Inquisition. And not even a day ago he was a prisoner who fell out of a rift. Some people still believed he was the entire reason of the massacre out there. And after re-establishing the Inquisition and letting him live, after taking such a risk, Cassandra would be stupid to let him wander off alone.

"I was hoping you'd say that," Maxwell lied, and his words seemed to surprise the Seeker. However, she was quick to hide it.

"You will find Mother Giselle tending to the wounded in the Hinterlands near Redcliffe," Leliana said, her finger pointing at near middle of the map of Ferelden. "But I suggest resting for today. You," she looked directly at Maxwell, "must still be very tired after what happened. A one night rest is not enough to help you recover. Rest more, eat and have a walk around. There are some people who would like to meet you. And I'm sure you would like to meet them as well."

"Of… course,"Maxwell nodded, his mind repeating '_Not far?' _in the background. "I'm going to do just that, if you don't mind."

He bowed slightly and hurried outside. As soon as the heavy door closed behind him, he could hear muffled voices rising inside, arguing, but he didn't want to think about it right now. His stomach was empty and displeased, and it was still early for the tavern to close.

* * *

><p>On his way to the tavern Maxwell did meet some important people. The crowd that met him before was gone, probably back to their duties, but some of them stayed outside. Merchants and blacksmiths were freezing on the road – well, mostly merchants were freezing, since blacksmiths had fire and active work to keep them warm. There were also herbalists that seemed to have no point in staying outside for long; no plants were growing nearby anyway, the ground was covered in soft snow.<p>

And then there were the merchants again…

_Am I going in circles,_ Maxwell sighed, feeling even colder than before. Shiver went down his spine, and he quickened his pace. Then there were the blacksmiths…

"I was wondering if you needed help with finding anything," a familiar voice called from somewhere close. "But if you like wandering about, I won't stop you."

Maxwell turned on the spot.

"V-varric!" He exclaimed. "Y-yeah, I think I'm lost. Have you s-seen a tavern anywhere?"

"Oh yeah," the dwarf answered, nodding to the side with a small smile. "Last time I checked, one was pretty close. Actually, you've passed it twice already, and I was beginning to feel sympathetic. Need a guide? I was about to go there myself anyway."

"O-oh yes, p-please," Maxwell answered with a grateful smile. "I really need that."

"Let's not waste any more time freezing here then, shall we?" Varric picked up his crossbow and went ahead. Maxwell followed close.

The tavern was small, and a few windows were open, but somehow it was really nice and warm inside. There weren't many people in here – actually, there were none except for the owner and a bard, so Varric led Maxwell to the table near the fireplace right away. The bard started playing a slow and quiet tune, which was surprisingly pleasant to Maxwell's ears, and after a moment he found himself humming along, memorizing the tune. The innkeeper offered them something hot to eat and drink, and judging by her nervous and yet excited behavior, she knew exactly who her guests were.

_Once we were__  
><em>_In our peace__  
><em>_With our lives assured__  
><em>_Once we were__  
><em>_Not afraid of the dark_

"So, how is it going, the Herald of Andraste?" the dwarf smirked, laying his hands on the table. There was something sly in his eyes, right there, shining. Maxwell was about to ask him not to call him that but stopped.

"Why are you asking?" he asked instead, suspicious.

"Why, you think I'm already gathering details for a new story?" Varric's smirk became wider. "I might be thinking about writing a book, yes, but right now I'm just concerned."

"I see…" Maxwell relaxed slightly. "Thank you. Honestly… I'm not entirely sure I'm happy with my new title. To tell you the truth, it makes me really nervous."

"I thought so," Varric nodded. "You'd think a person with a title like that would smile until their face breaks. You look like you're doomed."

"Am I not?"

The innkeeper brought them their food and drinks. She tripped once, almost falling, but was saved by Varric and his surprisingly remarkable for a dwarf agility. Maxwell sat down again and wondered if she was obliged to bring them food like that, but yet again, her behavior told him she wasn't really against it. Quite the opposite, she seemed to be very happy to serve. Probably the Herald of Andraste's doing.

They ate in silence for a couple of minutes. Maxwell looked at the door and sighed quietly, remembering that he didn't have many clothes aside from those he was wearing. He supposed Cassandra would do something about it later.

He looked back at Varric and frowned.

"Varric…" he called with some hesitation.

The dwarf looked up. "Yeah?"

"It's so cold outside, and you're walking with your chest bare. How aren't you cold?"

Varric eyed him for a second and then grinned.

"Chest hair."

"Chest hair," Maxwell repeated without thinking. "Wait. What?"

"Yeah, and I suggest keeping yours," the dwarf added. "Keeps you warm better than anything else."

"Is that a joke?"

"No."

There was a long moment of silence. Maxwell stared at Varric, trying to understand where this conversation just went.

"…I'll see what I can do," he finally said and picked his fork. Varric laughed quietly.

"Actually, maybe chest hair works only for me," he continued. "There's no problem with clothes here, though. Cassandra would start eating people if she heard someone was freezing. Means someone else doesn't do their job properly."

Maxwell could almost see that happening. That sounded very much like her, especially if he started remembering their first meeting. Here it wasn't all that bad, he supposed. With a leader like that, the Inquisition would be safe. At least from freezing to death.

"What if something happens and there won't be enough clothes?" he still asked.

"Now _that_ would be interesting," Varric's eyes sparkled with mischief. "I bet she'd try ripping out the fur from the Commander's overcoat. Have you seen it yet? The hairs almost scream 'we want to be free!'. That would be quite a show."

That was obviously a joke, and while Maxwell felt a little guilty laughing at the Commander, he still couldn't help it – not imagining the scene in his mind would be impossible. The day seemed brighter with small talk like this, pleasant music from the bard and good food in his stomach.

"Thank you, Varric," he said.

The dwarf only smiled.

* * *

><p>It turned out Varric was right: when Maxwell returned to his small wooden house, there was a pile of clothes waiting for him patiently on the bed. He was surprised to find that almost all of them fit him pretty well, as if someone had been eyeing him the whole day and picked the correct measurements without even asking. Maxwell piled the clothes in a chest beside his bed and put on a coat made of fur of some poor wild animal. It was so big it touched the floor.<p>

"You sure were huge, fellow," he said quietly, getting on the bed with his legs and hiding his whole body under the warm cloth. His feet were cold as ice – a problem he was used to and wasn't used to at all in the same time.

The sun was slowly beginning to settle, and Maxwell didn't have any certain plans for the evening, even though he knew it was probably the best time to get to know the advisors better. Now would be the time they started slowing down their work and getting some rest as well. The time they could probably share with him, since he was tied in all this. Or more like stuck. Knee deep.

He rocked back and forth slightly, considering his options, then fell back on the bed. _Come on,_ a voice in his head said. _You're all in this together. Perhaps you can at least try?_

"Right," Maxwell sighed and got back up. He was still reluctant to go outside, since most people recognized him and made him feel uncomfortable as a result, plus he didn't really want to deal with all sorts of reality right now: there were enough events stacked on his shoulders for a lifetime already. Not to mention the weather. But maybe that was what he _needed_ to do. So he put on a new pair of thick boots and went out, covering as much of himself under the coat as he could.

As soon as he got out again, strong wind blew right into his face, making him utter rude words he'd be ashamed of if he was still living with his wealthy family. But at least now it was warmer, even if his clothes felt pretty heavy. Especially the coat he swore not to take off no matter what would happen.

He spotted a target pretty quickly: sister Leliana was walking down the road not so far away, so he wouldn't have any trouble stopping her and trying to begin a conversation. Maxwell was about to call out to her when he noticed she wasn't exactly alone, nor was she looking happy. Quite the opposite, in fact. Varric was walking beside her, listening, and neither of them looked comfortable with what they were talking about. Varric was the first to notice him, and the dwarf slowly shook his head with a very serious look. This was a warning. Maxwell stepped back quickly and hid around the corner, trying not to make any noise. The spymaster and the dwarf walked past him and up the stairs, soon disappearing from the view. Maxwell sighed with both relief and disappointment. Maybe this wasn't such a good idea after all…

"Were you hiding from them?" a voice asked, and he almost jumped out of his skin.

"Who does that!" Maxwell growled, turning around.

Apparently, Commander Cullen did. He stood a few feet away, smiling slightly and looking pleased with himself. _How did he even manage to get so close without me noticing? _Maxwell wondered. Actually, maybe he should've asked that aloud.

"How did you get so close without making any noise at all?"

"I did make noise," Cullen answered, folding his hands across his chest. "You were too busy hiding to notice. Which returns us to my question: what were you trying to avoid?"

Maxwell frowned. He wanted to know the answer to that himself. It seemed something important was happening- or something _private_, why else would Varric ask him to step out of the view? And if _that_ was the case, he probably had to keep it a secret. But he didn't want to lie, too.

"I'm not entirely sure," he said instead. "I think I was about to disturb something I shouldn't, so I hid and waited until they were gone."

His answer only made the Commander tense visibly.

"Who are you talking about?" He asked, suddenly deadly serious.

Maxwell swallowed. He shouldn't have said what he did, should he have. Somehow, that only made things worse, even if he didn't know what exactly made the Commander's guard jump up like that.

"Just… two ordinary people from here…" He tried to explain. When Cullen's face didn't change, not even a bit, he let it go. "Okay, okay! Varric and Leliana. Why do you even want to know that much!"

After a brief moment of silence, Cullen sighed and finally relaxed.

"And here I thought we were already having problems. You should have told me from the beginning," he said. "There is no visible threat for us now, but I should always be on my guard, or one day we may find ourselves facing something we are not prepared for."

Maxwell suddenly understood. If this 'something I should not disturb' seemed to him as something private between two people, the Commander saw it immediately as a possible threat. A trait that came with his duties. That was remarkable.

"I take it, you never had to look out for a lot of people before."

"No," Maxwell admitted. "What happened there, I thought it was something… special… you know? So I decided I probably had no right to talk about it."

"Something special?" Cullen repeated, sounding unsure. "Special like… Oh! No. No, it is not like that. At least I don't think so."

"It isn't?"

The Commander laughed quietly, and Maxwell caught himself enjoying the sound. He shrugged internally at this thought and dismissed it almost instantly.

"Such a way to end the day," Cullen glanced at the horizon, a small smile still present on his face, then looked back at Maxwell and shook his head. "No, as far as I know, Varric is loyal to Bianca."

"To…"

"His crossbow."

Maxwell felt his brows rising in surprise.

"Oh…" he looked at the snow under his feet. This was becoming awkward really fast. Fortunately, the Commander seemed to get a similar idea.

"I think it will be better for you to return to your house now," Cullen said. "I will return to my place as well."

Maxwell nodded with a quiet 'yeah' and went back to the door. It dawned upon him too late that he should have probably invited the Commander inside instead of staying behind the house in cold snow. But at least the conversation wasn't that bad. _I rather __enjoyed it__, _he thought.

And stopped on the spot.

If there was nothing private happening, then there really was a problem. And this problem was serious, if both Varric's and Leliana's looks were anything to go by. Maxwell took off the coat and hung it next to the door, wondering if he should have told the Commander about that.

* * *

><p>The temperature wasn't as cruel in the morning as it was during the night. Maxwell even left his house without his new coat, which, he supposed, would only add needless weight on his journey to Redcliffe. And as far as he knew, there were no horses in Haven, since it was just a humble village two days ago. The development of the Inquisition had only started, and some time would pass before he had his personal horse. Or, at least, that's what Cassandra said when she visited him early that morning. Maxwell wasn't at all fond of the idea of walking all the way to Redcliffe, but he supposed he had no other options.<p>

Cassandra also told him only four people would be going, him and her included, so maybe they would find someone to help them on the road. The other two people turned up to be Varric and Solas, and Maxwell somewhat relaxed when he found out the dwarf would be coming with them. He was still concerned with the events of the previous evening and hoped Varric would throw some light upon the matter.

White snowflakes were falling from the sky slowly and peacefully, the Breach shining dully behind the clouds and sending rare stripes of green to the ground. Here, so far away from the Breach, with quiet wind blowing from the side and snow crunching under his feet, Maxwell felt safe. It was a false feeling, of course, yet he found himself surrender to it from time to time. If he stopped thinking about the actual danger, he could even find the Breach captivating. _Which is a bad thought to have, _he told himself each time.

He still had a couple of hours before taking off to Redcliffe, since Cassandra had other duties at hand for the moment. She suggested (or more like ordered) practicing his skills while she was busy, so Maxwell was going to do just that. He supposed it would be clever to find some time to ask Solas about his mark, but that could wait: Solas would be travelling with him anyway.

He wasn't surprised to find the Commander among the practicing recruits. As far as he knew, Cullen was their best teacher, and judging by what Maxwell was seeing, he was great at this. The Commander was standing in the middle of his little battleground, surrounded by a dozen of practicing men, another dozen sitting nearby on a pile of planks and having a break. He looked extremely tired for such an early hour, and Maxwell wondered if he'd even slept that night.

"Commander!" he called, approaching. Cullen looked up and nodded in greeting.

"What brings you here?" he asked when Maxwell got close enough. "I thought you had a serious trip planned for today."

"Yeah, I have one planned," Maxwell agreed. "Cassandra has some things to take care of first, so I came here to test my skills," he fell quiet for a couple of seconds and then looked at the direction of the practicing men. "Looks like our recruits got themselves a brilliant teacher."

"I just had a lot of practice. And there are a few people helping me from time to time," Cullen simply answered, although the slightly pleased look on his face betrayed him completely. It looked like the Commander wasn't really used to hearing kind words in his address, but they still made him smile and erased some of the tiredness from his face.

"It certainly takes more than that to have them all reach this level in such a small period of time," Maxwell shook his head. "Then again, you're our Commander. I don't know what I'm so surprised about."

That made the Commander smile more openly, yet he chose to deny the praise verbally. He probably knew it was completely pointless.

"No, I uh…" He looked away. "If you're looking for some practice, you're most welcome."

"Thank you," Maxwell answered and went into a tent to pick a weapon, leaving the Commander slightly embarrassed and awkward. That however was a far better look on him than the one he had a couple of minutes ago.

The Trevelyan family hired a teacher for Maxwell when he still was a clumsy child. He had no fighting experience back then, so a lot of his lessons ended with scratches and bruises, most of which he inflicted himself by accident. Sometimes they would hurt so bad he'd want to stop, lying in his small bed in the corner of the dark room, crying. That wish of his never left the four walls: a Trevelyan had no right to show his weaknesses in front of other people. Years passed, and Maxwell had grown into a skilled fighter – or, at least, that's what people used to tell him. He himself always saw little things here and there that he needed to improve.

Upon stepping out from the tent, holding a sword and a shield (the mark on his palm pulsed in disagreement), he instantly found a bunch of opponents, as some of the recruits recognized who he was and asked him for a fight. He had some quick matches, during almost all of which he had to hold himself back. Cullen was a good teacher, as were the ones helping him, but Maxwell had been practicing and fighting for all his life, and these recruits were next to new in the whole fighting thing. Some of them were better than others, but still not good enough. In the end Maxwell was teaching others more than practicing himself. And he liked it; he felt like he found his place for the time being. If he could help the Inquisition, the best way to do it was sharing his skills with others. The Commander seemed to notice his eagerness to teach and stepped away to rest among the recruits, finally having a moment of peace. However, the more Maxwell fought, the less comfortable Cullen looked, until he finally wasn't able to sit quietly anymore and stood up.

"Hold it!" he ordered, and the recruit whom Maxwell was teaching froze mid-attack.

The Commander approached them quickly, looking unsettled and somewhat excited.

"I want to fight you," he stated bluntly, and some men stopped their fighting to look at them.

"To practice?" Maxwell asked, smiling. Apparently, the Commander liked his battle skills enough to want to test them himself.

"No. Yes…" Cullen stopped talking for a moment. "I want you to show me your full strength."

Maxwell's smile evolved into a proud grin.

"Of course, Commander, I'll do it with pleasure," he answered, bowing slightly. Cullen smirked and raised his sword.

Many forgot about their practice as soon as the Herald of Andraste and the Commander clashed in a battle. Most of the recruits even stepped back just in case, because both of them looked like there was nothing real beyond their fight.

It's been a long while since Maxwell last fought an opponent like this. He wasn't even sure he'd ever met somebody as strong as the Commander. Where he attacked, Cullen would block without any difficulty; where Cullen stroke, he'd dodge and strike right back only to be blocked again. And the more his attacks were blocked, the more excited Maxwell became, his movements sharper and faster with each lunge. He realized he was grinning, and so was the Commander. They were not fighting; this was something else entirely. And from the frequent and enthusiastic glances Cullen kept shooting him, Maxwell understood that this was exactly what the Commander wanted. No matter what happened to make him stay awake at night, this was his cure. Maxwell decided he only had one thing to add.

In the middle of a dodge he deliberately slipped and fell back clumsily, letting go of his sword. The sharp tip of a blade instantly pressed to his chest, ending the fight. Above him the Commander was laughing light-heartedly.

"I won," he declared, lowering his weapon and reaching his free hand out to offer Maxwell help. His help was quickly accepted, Maxwell's fingers clasping around his wrist confidently. The gesture didn't seem to confuse Cullen even a bit, and a moment later Maxwell was standing on his feet, trying to shake off the snow.

"I let you win," he corrected, even though he was sure he made his loss look pretty natural. He just wanted to keep some dignity.

"I am aware of that," Cullen agreed, confusing him completely. Maxwell froze, looking up again.

"You… are?" he asked reluctantly. "How did you understand?"

"Well," Cullen sheathed his sword and looked back at him, still breathing heavily. "Our fight wasn't exactly short, and such a mistake looked too convenient to be unintentional. You were not tired. You never lost your guard or your balance."

Maxwell took in his answer, looking mildly surprised. Then, after a brief moment, he offered a small smile.

"You're okay with that?" he asked.

"No," the Commander answered, a hint of a smile mirroring on his face. "Any other day I would be very disappointed. But I understand that today you had your reasons to end our fight in such a way."

_He saw right through me,_ Maxwell suddenly realized.

There was a moment of silence, during which they both seemed to realize they were still standing in the middle of the training ground, surrounded by shocked recruits and other people they had attracted with their fighting. Not to mention they were looking at each other and smiling without any particular reason. There _was_ a reason, but Maxwell doubted anybody would understand.

The Commander coughed and hid his smile carefully, returning to his old self-composed self. But even as he did that, his eyes never lost their happiness entirely, and Maxwell was proud he managed to be of help. The next time Cullen addressed his recruits, he sounded confident and optimistic, which seemed to charge his men as well. The practicing looked far more lively now, as recruits were inspired by their fight and did their best to learn quicker. Maxwell decided he needed to come here more often to teach them and to inspire them better. Provided he lived long enough to do that.

"They can manage on their own for now. Come take a break with me," the Commander called him. "I need to talk to you."

Cullen led him to a pile of planks covered with several thick pieces of old, faded red cloth, where some of his recruits had been resting. All of them were practicing now, so there was a lot of free space for both men. They sat down on the highest plank, their feet hardly touching the ground. Maxwell noticed that neither he, nor the Commander minded.

Having not much else to do, he picked a green apple from a nearby bowl and sank his teeth into it. Sour juice filled his mouth instantly.

"You fought well," the Commander said. "I really enjoyed it. To tell the truth, I can't remember the last time I enjoyed a fight that much. I'm not even sure that ever happened."

"I know," Maxwell answered. "I feel the same way exactly. Been a while since I enjoyed a fight at all. Especially since the day my family had decided to make me a templar. I loved fighting when I was a kid, so I was quite successful in it, practicing day and night like a fanatic. Child's passion, you know?" He frowned slightly, observing the practicing recruits. "After their decision it all became something I _had_ to do. Things that you like stop being your favorite when they're forced upon you. Funny, because I never actually made it to the Chantry."

There was no response for a while, and Maxwell threw what he expected to be a quick glance at the Commander, ending up watching him closely instead. There was something written on that face, but the letters were twisted, and he couldn't read them.

"You didn't want to become one, then," Cullen said after some time, his eyes locked on the ground and voice quiet.

"Not really, no," Maxwell agreed. "I wasn't the only child in the family, and I thought the Chantry would only limit my freedom. Not to mention I didn't really believe in the Maker."

"Do you now?"

"Do I what? Still think that or believe in the Maker?"

"Both."

"Well… " Maxwell rubbed his chin thoughtfully. "I think I'd be trapped in the Chantry's endless duties, yes. But now it's not about that, I guess. The war and all. As for the Maker," he bit the apple again, thoughtful, "I don't really know. There's the Breach, life, magic, real demons and such, so there should be something that gave birth to all of that. Which is kind of mortifying. I mean, imagine that there's some force that makes all of this come into motion, and beyond it there's nothing. People in the Chantry talk about the Maker like he's a person, a father. That's just one man, it's scary. I don't want to believe in that."

"I see," Cullen nodded and fell silent.

"Did you want to become a templar?" Maxwell asked a moment later, not quite sure if he picked the right time to ask about that; still, the silence was making him nervous. He felt like things would go completely terrible if he kept sitting there with his mouth shut.

"Yes," the Commander answered, looking up and at him, hesitantly. "I was eager, actually; wanted to protect those in need. I used to beg the templars at our local chantry to teach me and must've shown promise, because the knight-captain asked my parents to let me learn. I was thirteen at the time."

_We were completely different,_ Maxwell thought. While he was aware of many people wanting to become templars, he never entirely understood it. A person didn't need to become a templar in order to save people, and he saw the Chantry more as a society of religious people who wanted protection themselves. They didn't want to believe they were alone in the world, so they chose to worship something they'd never even seen before. And if he started digging deeper, thinking about them and the mages, it stopped making sense at all.

"You say you wanted to protect people," Maxwell said slowly. "Why aren't you afraid of the Maker then, seeing how many people suffer without him or from things like the Breach… something only he could cause? And doesn't that mean people become templars just to protect his children from him alone?"

"It's not that simple," the Commander answered, though his voice sounded somewhat unsure, as if he'd been asking himself the same thing for a long time.

"Maybe," Maxwell sighed. "I've never been into that thing much, so I believe you know the Chantry far better than I do."

Cullen shrugged, not bothering to say anything else. Maxwell decided that would be the best moment to stop talking as well. Talking about the Chantry and the templars seemed to damage the Commander's mood a lot, and he wondered if Cullen faced something in the Chantry that turned his views upside down. He supposed he'd ask later. For now he still had an apple to devour.

That in his mind, Maxwell took another apple from the bowl, a red one, and offered it to the Commander. Cullen looked at it thoughtfully for a moment and then took it, nodding in a quiet sign of gratitude.

* * *

><p>Cassandra found them still sitting there, eating in silence. She hadn't forgotten to put on her permanent scowl, but Maxwell was already used to that. He caught himself thinking he'd become worried if it somehow disappeared.<p>

"Commander," she greeted Cullen and turned to Maxwell, her face becoming even colder, "…and you. Everything is ready. We should head out."

"Of course," Maxwell answered without getting much offended. He understood her lack of trust, even if it made him tense all the time. Bless their first meeting. "I've been ready all morning."

"Good," she said, watching him hop off the pile of planks, an unfinished apple still in hand.

"Be safe there," the Commander stood up, his face perfectly neutral. "I shall return to the recruits. And thank you for helping me earlier."

"My pleasure," Maxwell smiled. "I'd love to practice here more often, if you don't mind."

He was surprised to see how the Commander changed as soon as Cassandra came. There was no sign of his sad thoughtfulness anymore, no more hesitation or uncertainty. There was only a man who had his duties and nothing else. That made Maxwell's smile falter a little: he'd thought the advisors were closer than that. Cassandra, however, didn't seem or care to notice.

"Of course," Cullen said. "You are always welcome."

Upon saying their hasty goodbyes, Cassandra took Maxwell to the gates. The latter felt rather reluctant to leave the practicing ground, but he supposed he had far more serious matters at hand. The air was tense even more now, when he remembered what was lying ahead of them, and he wasn't even sure Redcliffe would turn out to be a happy place. Not with the Breach that large and shiny in the sky. And some people told him there were clashes between the templars and the mages everywhere…

"You helped our Commander?" Cassandra asked, interrupting his line of thought and turning it 180 degrees.

"A little," Maxwell answered. "I think I've found my place in Haven. Something I can help you with."

"That is a good thing to hear," the Seeker noted. She didn't bother to look at him, but he could swear her voice sounded lighter. "I have witnessed you in battle, and I must admit I am very impressed."

Maxwell almost fell down, stumbling upon a small rock.

"Really?" He asked, suspicious. That was the first time Cassandra ever approved of him… or anything to that matter. He must've wandered into another dimension just now.

"The Inquisition is still young," the Seeker explained. "The only man _really_ capable of teaching our recruits – I assume this is what you're speaking of – that man is Cullen. And the Commander has a lot on him even without that. Your help is much appreciated."

She spared him a glance that lacked its usual mistrust, and Maxwell took it as a small victory. He smiled in return, which made Cassandra look away swiftly, her lips pursed in a thin line. _I thought you didn't trust me, _he wanted to say, but there was a huge chance she'd agree with that.

"Thank you," he said instead. No answer came back, and Maxwell decided he'd let it go; he got his 'almost praise' anyway.

The gates came into his view soon after, Varric and Solas standing nearby and looking all set and excited. Though in case of Solas it was more calm and curious. The elf probably had as many questions about the mark as he did, and Maxwell wouldn't be taken aback if it turned out little bothered Solas beyond that. Still, he wouldn't call that a bad thing since the elf seemed to know more than anyone around, and while the episode at the Conclave made Maxwell jump on his spot, now he was rather happy to have Solas by his side. He was glad to see Varric as well; the dwarf would be a welcome distraction from the tough reality. Storytellers had it in them, that spark of light that brightened even the darkest of times. And honestly speaking, Maxwell suspected he'd go mad without a happy face nearby. He still thought he'd go mad after walking all the way to Redcliffe on foot.

"Let's go," Cassandra walked past them, not even looking back to see if they followed.

Maxwell glanced at Varric, and the dwarf shook his head, smiling.

"This is going to be a long day," he said, patting his crossbow. "I hope you're prepared for it. Believe this humble dwarf, I spent quite a lot of time with our Seeker. She doesn't get very happy when things go wrong."

"I can imagine," Maxwell agreed. His mark pulsed slightly, and he bent his fingers to touch it.


	2. Chapter 2

_Once we were__  
><em>_In our peace__  
><em>_With our lives assured__  
><em>_Once we were__  
><em>_Not afraid of the dark_

_Once we sat in our kingdom__  
><em>_With hope and pride.__  
><em>_Once we ran through…_

…

_Through... through…_

_Uh._

"Through the fields with great strides," Varric reminded him helpfully from behind, and Maxwell jumped on the spot, startled.

After leaving the camp in Hinterlands several hours ago their small group decided to take a break near a broad river, in a place where rocks and plants were huge enough to put them out of plain sight. Clashes with the rebel mages and the templars hadn't proven to be such a big threat so far, but with mother Giselle under their wing no one wanted to take risks.

Having had a few quick bites, Maxwell excused himself and went to seek some private time: he was still tense from trying to get used to the real fighting again, that kind of fighting where his opponents actually _wanted_ to kill him. Practicing his battle skills was usually the best way to keep his mind off things, but Maxwell had enough of that already, so he ended up using the other method, which he considered a good alternative.

He'd been pretty sure he was standing far enough from the others, half hidden behind the trunk of a big tree. Apparently, not anymore. Maxwell grumbled and turned around, slowly.

"You all need to stop doing that," he said. "What if you scare me to death one day? Just imagine: I'm falling down, senseless – right here, on this very spot, a horrible grimace on my face..."

"How much horribleness do you want me to picture exactly?" The dwarf asked, smirking.

"Oh, it would be a horrible, horrible one."

"Double horrible, then. Forever imprinted on my mind, oh mighty Herald."

"You're not helping," Maxwell frowned, hitting the dirt under his feet with the tip of his boot. "I was trying to get used to my new way of life here. You don't see the templars and the mages going berserk all around you every day."

"You were singing," Varric pointed out, making him flinch slightly.

"Thank you very much, I so haven't noticed," Maxwell made a face. There was no denying his dreadful sin now, was there. "It's just something I enjoy doing from time to time. Can play some instruments too."

The dwarf folded his arms, a shadow of curiosity flashing across his face.

"Well, it may not be my business," he asked a moment later, "but why are you a warrior, then? And wielding a great sword on top of that. Why not a bard?"

"It's just a hobby," Maxwell shrugged. "I'm a Trevelyan. Parents taught us to understand that we should have many strengths. Besides, as much as I've heard, bards are not that easy."

"Us?"

_I shouldn't have opened my mouth._

"I have two older brothers. Had a sister, too… but that's not really important right now." Maxwell cleared his throat. "Thing is, each of us developed different skills, all based on our talents or things we liked doing as children."

"And you happened to like fighting and singing?"

Maxwell nodded reluctantly. When Varric put it that way, it really looked kind of incompatible.

"I'm nowhere as good as my brothers, but I'm trying," he finished with a small and uneasy smile, deciding he'd already told way more than he would've liked. "I think we should return to the others. Not sure Cassandra would approve of us discussing our evil plans while she's sitting that far."

"Yeah," the dwarf agreed, grinning. "I'm sure she's thinking about that."

That seemed most likely, if all the cold glares the Seeker was shooting in their direction was anything to go by. Maxwell smiled openly at her, taking his first steps back.

"Careful, you're angering the mistress," Varric laughed, which only made Cassandra more dissatisfied.

She wasn't in a good mood these days; thankfully, it became better with Mother Giselle around. They didn't plan to escort her to Haven at first, since there were enough agents of the Inquisition to do that for them, but it turned out they were running out of precious time. Mother Giselle pointed at those whom she considered to be potential allies, people who struck their roots deep into Val Royeaux in their attempts to gain strong positions in the Chantry. Trying to impress them wasn't the best option, but it was all they had for the time being, and the opportunity would soon disappear. Any other business in Hinterlands would have to wait, the search for precious horses included. It wasn't all that bad though, since Cassandra had announced that the Inquisition managed to ease the matter.

One thing appeared to be a serious problem – Maxwell's mark. It continued to pulse and shine brightly from under the glove, alerting and unnerving almost everyone around from time to time. Maxwell couldn't let it do the same in Val Royeaux, not if he wanted to gain allies. But he couldn't also control it. Solas had told him that this would occur every time a rift was nearby or created, yet after some time they found out it wouldn't always work that way. Even now, when they were camping with no rifts present and the Breach glowing dully behind the clouds, the mark wouldn't stop pulsing. It wasn't really painful, but it was itching unbearably, and Maxwell wasn't sure it would do him any good if he tried to scratch it. He'd tried sticking a tip of his finger inside once, and it burned for several hours, making him _regret_.

"What were you two talking about?" Cassandra asked as soon as they approached, and he ignored her completely, sharing one of his coldest glares with the glove.

"Don't ask him, Seeker," Varric answered for him. "He's in the middle of his intense love-hate relationship."

Cassandra groaned, returning to her food.

* * *

><p>Something felt off when the group returned to Haven. It took little time to realize there were less people on the roads than before; a lot of them must have moved somewhere while they were searching for Mother Giselle. Cassandra quickly took action, directing her steps to the chantry, the rest of the group close behind. The more they approached, the better they could hear people arguing.<p>

A big crowd gathered at the entrance of the chantry, surrounding two people that were obviously responsible for the entire thing. A templar and a mage on top of that, just what the Inquisition needed most.

"Your kind killed the Most Holy!"

"Lies! Your kind let her die!"

_Great, that's the spirit,_ Maxwell thought. _I wish you'd aim it into the right direction._

"What's going on here!" Cassandra thundered, and both men stepped back, startled.

"There she goes," Varric smiled.

"I demand an answer, _NOW_," the Seeker announced, stepping forward, her hand on the hilt of her sword.

If Maxwell thought he'd seen her angry before, he was definitely wrong. It came nowhere near this, and he was glad he wasn't on the receiving end. Cassandra looked utterly scary.

"This man, he… he was…" the templar stuttered, the bravery of a cornered prey in his posture.

"It's all his fault!" The mage interrupted, furious. "He and his men are all guilty! They are poisoning this place- they are poisoning everything they touch! Why do you keep templars here when the Chantry clearly told you that you're worthless!"

Silence dawned upon them for one sharp, shocking moment. Even Varric stood completely speechless.

The confusion on Cassandra's face slowly changed into pure, overwhelming rage.

"You have no right to…!"

"SHUT YOUR MOUTH, MAGE!" The templar shouted and bolted forward, ready to strike.

The commander appeared between them in less than a second, grabbing the templar by his shoulder and stopping him effectively. The templar jumped back, shocked, and seemed to realize what he had almost done.

"ENOUGH!" Cullen shouted, and while he looked more or less composed, the aura radiating from him was matching Cassandra's perfectly. He threw a glare at the mage, making the man shudder visibly. "We are not templars any longer. We are _all_ part of the Inquisition!"

"I… I just… I didn't mean to…" the mage started, his voice shivering.

"And what does that mean exactly?" A voice interrupted. The crowd fell back to let the man pass.

Chancellor Roderick. The same man that wanted Maxwell dead, and he would have achieved his aim if not Cassandra's firm decision. The Chancellor wasn't in a hurry, taking in the perfection of the moment.

The Commander tensed even more: it was as clear as day that this was the last person he wanted to see.

"Back already, Chancellor?" he almost growled. "Haven't you done enough?"

The man only smirked.

"I'm curious, Commander, as to how your Inquisition and its 'Herald' will restore order as you've promised," he ignored both questions, turning to the crowd and pretending to be addressing it to raise more doubts.

"Of course you are…" Cullen said, unnoticed by the man he was talking to. The Commander clearly got the Chancellor's intentions though and hurried to add loudly: "Back to your duties, all of you!"

Maxwell was amazed at how quickly the crowd melted away, leaving Cullen and Roderick alone at the massive wooden doors of the chantry. Despite that, the latter was looking greatly satisfied; as if he'd just crushed the Inquisition with his heel. He certainly did attempt to do that a moment ago, and Maxwell wasn't sure he was unsuccessful. The last thing the Inquisition needed was doubts, and there seemed to be a lot of doubt floating around thanks to the whole deal in front of the chantry, the headquarters of the Inquisition. Witnessed by the whole village, no less.

Cassandra walked past him, invisible anger evaporating from each her movement. Maxwell thought she would say something, show the Chancellor he would regret doing things like this in the future, anything. But she walked past them as well, right into the chantry, and closed the door behind her with a very loud thud.

"That's bad," Varric stated, sounding uneasy. "You don't see her like that often."

"I can imagine," Maxwell nodded. "I'm sure she'd kill me if I happened to cross her way now."

"She probably would," the dwarf agreed.

"His poison will continue to spread," Solas suddenly appeared beside them, making both of them flinch. "Sometimes one voice is enough to crush even the strongest of unities."

"We sure don't want that," Maxwell said. "We'll have to deal with the Chancellor somehow."

He stepped towards the two men at the doors, having no distinct idea of what to say. Despite bearing the title of Andraste's Herald, he was still no more than just a man, not to mention the possible murderer of the Divine. But he wanted to change things, to soften the blow at least. He'd have to try.

"Ah, the honorable Herald of Andraste," Chancellor Roderick greeted him mockingly. "And here we were talking about you and the fine state the Inquisition has found itself in. We are very interested in your opi-"

"Drop it," Maxwell cut him off coldly, quiet disgust feeding his self-confidence. "You know your words lack even the smallest resemblance to respect. I'm grateful for your attempt, though."

The statement seemed to surprise the Chancellor as he lost his words for a moment, giving Maxwell a perfect opportunity to continue his line if he so desired, yet Maxwell chose to close the conversation before failing miserably in this task.

"Commander," he greeted Cullen instead, and the man nodded, not trying to hide the smile that had appeared along with Roderick's loss of words. "I have important news I would like to discuss with you and the others. We should gather immediately. I hope the Chancellor will excuse us, as we have to finish the conversation for now."

"I'm sure he won't mind," Cullen agreed. "Have a good day, Chancellor."

"By all means…" Varric added, laughing quietly, and even Solas almost smiled, albeit looking away.

They left the Chancellor outside together with all the unpleasant feelings and worries. It was a small victory, but a victory nonetheless.

* * *

><p>It was eventually decided that the most effective way to gain new allies would be letting the clerics of Val Royeaux meet the Herald in person. Sadly, it was as dangerous as it was effective. Extra sadly, because there was no better alternative or time to wait (or at least that's what the advisors agreed on). Maxwell found himself leaving the chantry with an unpleasant feeling in his chest; he'd just arrived back to Haven, hadn't seen his comfortable bed yet, or his doorstep for that matter, and he'd already have to leave at dawn.<p>

_It's how it is now, and it's not going to change any time soon,_ he thought.

_I will go to Val Royeaux, accompanied by a manly woman, a dwarf with chest hair and a bald elf, _he knew.

_That's going to make every cleric of __Val __Royeaux_ _want to join us,_ he laughed.

Then he remembered the sadness, and his laugh died.

It was a difficult step he was about to make. Val Royeaux was not only the capital of all Orlais, it was also the capital of the Chantry. He would have to meet people, most of which probably considered him the murderer of the Divine and would rather die than stand by his side. Moreover, that action would surely attract the attention of his family. His father and his older brother were templars, and he knew that almost all men of the Trevelyan family that were able to hold a sword had eventually become templars. He'd managed to escape that fate, but the price was the warm feeling of a child being loved. He never received a letter after the events at the Conclave. If he failed in Val Royeaux, that would only make things between them worse. If it was possible at all.

"You do not need to worry that much."

Looking up, Maxwell locked his eyes with sister Leliana's. He had no idea he'd been standing next to her working tent all that time. The Spymaster was watching him with a calm smile on her face, her eyes reflecting something he'd never seen in them before.

"How did you know?" he asked, then coughed nervously and quickly added, "Besides the fact I'm still standing here without any particular reason."

"You have that look…" she said, her rich orlesian accent smoothing the words. "I know that look. _She_ used to wear it when she was feeling unsure or troubled."

That was longing in her eyes, then. She was missing someone. Someone she knew very well and treasured.

"She?" Maxwell asked.

Leliana looked away for a moment, possibly deciding if she wanted to tell anything about _her _or not. Or maybe she was just reliving some events from her past. The expression on her face suggested the second option.

"We used to camp every night," the smile on her face was now a little sad. "And sometimes she would sit near the fire, looking exactly like you are right now. Those were difficult times. Even though she never admitted, I knew she was afraid of losing."

"The Hero of Ferelden?" Maxwell tried.

"I would sit beside her and tell her one of my stories each time to cheer her up," Leliana continued, seemingly missing his words. "I'm happy we were able to end the Blight, but I… I really miss those days."

The more Leliana talked about the Warden, the sadder the look on her face became. That made Maxwell remember his first day in the Inquisition, when he saw Varric and her walking past his home together. He wanted to ask her what they had been talking about but was afraid that would only add to the damage. And Maxwell was very interested in hearing about the Warden, anyway.

However, sister Leliana stopped talking. She cleared her throat after a moment and smiled at him. The smile looked warm, yet her eyes somehow didn't.

"As I was saying, there is nothing to worry about," she said. "Our best agents will be secretly following you. Should something bad happen, they will make sure to guide you back safely."

"Thank you…" Maxwell said, a bit taken aback.

"You should go now," Leliana added. "I will be here if you need me."

With that she walked past him and into the tent. Maxwell sighed in defeat, choosing to leave her be. Maybe he'd ask her about the Warden later when… whenever she'd trust him enough to share. If that would ever happen.

For now he was left with a choice: it wasn't much time before the air would become colder and the sun would hide behind the mountains, leaving the breach to be the only source of light in the sky, but it was enough to find himself a thing or two to busy himself with.

The idea came to him instantly, and Maxwell turned to go to the practicing grounds. He was almost sure he wouldn't have to fight in Val Royeaux, yet he preferred to be ready for every outcome. Plus there were the recruits who needed him as a teacher and enjoyed his company. And there was Cullen…

Except there wasn't. Not yet at least. There were a couple of templars instead, and they were obviously trying their best to teach the recruits, but the whole scene seemed to lack something rather important. Confidence. What they had witnessed at the doors of the chantry made them uncertain, and the Commander still wasn't there to encourage them. However, as soon as some of them spotted Maxwell, spirits began to rise. As he approached, many greeted him, and some even smiled.

Maxwell didn't lose any time and went to pick a weapon. He'd expected everything to be the same as the previous time, more or less, but as soon as he exited the tent he found almost all of the recruits as well as their teachers waiting for him right there, at the tent.

What were they expecting him to do?

Then it struck him.

"Let's make a tournament!" He announced loudly. "I'm sure the Commander wouldn't mind, given that you have been practicing all day."

There was a short moment of silence, then some men among the crowd got brave enough and agreed enthusiastically, and it turned up to be contagious. This kind of activity was something they were able to understand and would enjoy. Besides that, Maxwell was certain a little game of friendly rivalry would erase the doubts and return not only the recruits but also the templars to the state where they would not regret joining the Inquisition.

"One pair at a time!" He continued confidently. "Come on, let's make a circle, give the participants space and cheer for them as much as we can!"

There was a mixed support of 'yes!' and 'let's do that!' as the crowd made a big circle, and Maxwell picked the first pair. He stayed inside the circle along with the templars to maintain the order and stop the fighting as soon as someone lost his weapon.

This idea of his turned out to be enormously successful as the mood lifted and lifted, and after some time everyone was cheering loudly, looking like nothing bad had ever happened. The quarrel at the chantry was forgotten as well as Chancellor Roderick's poison. Moreover, it was a good way of practicing at new heights. The men fought not only to develop their skills, they fought to become victorious. They would definitely need that in real battles.

_I should ask Cullen to allow such__tournaments from time to time,_ Maxwell decided, watching the men's morale rise along with the level of their skill. They also seemed to admire him more, seeking his approval all the time. They didn't ask him to participate, however, and never raised any complaints when the opponents were chosen. Quite the opposite in fact, the recruits respected each other a lot. Whenever a participant lost his weapon, the winner would shake his hand or help him off the ground. Maxwell wasn't the only one who liked seeing that – the templars were looking content as well.

Another pair was in the middle of fighting when someone took a careful, yet firm hold of Maxwell's elbow. He looked over his shoulder and saw the Commander standing close, a mixed expression on his face. Cullen seemed far from angry, but he looked like he needed an explanation. Or more like a confirmation.

"Did you organize that?" he asked.

"Yes," Maxwell nodded, his eyes locking on the duel again. "I thought it would be a nice distraction after what happened at the chantry. They looked completely miserable when I came here."

The Commander must have lowered his head a little closer to Maxwell's ear because the next words sounded a lot clearer.

"I can guess, I was there…" Cullen sighed. "That man… I don't know what to do with him anymore."

"With the Chancellor?" Maxwell shrugged. "Nothing, I guess. But I think we have a cure for his poison right here."

"You're right. We have it," Cullen agreed and fell silent, probably observing the fight.

_Does this mean he likes it?_

_Yes… I think, he does._

The fighting continued, men winning and losing and undoubtedly having lots of fun. The activity was the same, Maxwell was sure of it, yet something rapidly changed. It wasn't very difficult to notice, though at first the change was scarcely perceptible. Maxwell didn't take long to determine the source as the fur of the Commander's overcoat kept tickling the back of his neck, making him want to scratch it all the time. Cullen was standing too close, and Maxwell turned his head to ask him to move away a little.

"Could you please… uh…"

"Yeah?" the Commander drew his eyes away from the duel to look at him.

There was a pause. Maxwell struggled to let out the words he originally intended to say, but his mouth wouldn't listen and just stayed half open, clearly making him look like an idiot. His brain seemed to disobey his orders as well, staying unnaturally quiet. Thing was, he'd never seen such an expression on anyone before – one that would suggest he did a really good job at something. The Commander was watching him with curiosity in his eyes, but there were a lot of things besides that in his eyes.

'_You came up with a brilliant idea. I'm proud of you. I'm thankful.'_

No one had ever given him that look before. Not even his parents.

Maxwell found himself turning away real quick, not sure how to deal with this.

"Nothing," he said.

There was no movement beside him, possibly indicating that the Commander was still looking at him. Maybe even expecting an explanation- or worse, suspecting something. Maxwell turned back.

"I met Leliana earlier," he tried changing the subject, his voice pitch higher than usual. "We talked."

"Did anything happen?" Cullen asked, frowning.

"No, no," Maxwell assured him. "We just talked. About er… the Hero of Ferelden."

The Commander leaned in again. Maxwell almost jumped on his spot, noticing it this time and not at all used to close proximity, but then he saw that the uneasy look from before had returned to Cullen's face, effectively pushing the happy one aside.

"Did she tell you much?" the Commander asked, his voice barely audible behind the loud support of the recruits.

"No… Yeah… Er… not really. Told me she used to cheer her up with all kind of stories when the Warden was sad."

"I see." Cullen nodded. "I met her too, actually."

There was another pause.

"…you did?"

Cullen sighed, rubbing his neck. He seemed uneasy and reluctant, as if he regretted saying what he just did but had to continue anyway.

"Yes, twice," he finally managed. "I wish we'd met… under different circumstances."

_Wait. That doesn't sound good._

"Where did it happen?" Maxwell pushed, the thought of not doing so coming a little too late.

"You've heard about the Circle Tower of Ferelden, yes…?" the Commander muttered almost inaudibly.

The uneasiness between them was suddenly spreading, becoming more forceful. All the noise along with reality itself went into the background and buzzed there dully and almost absently.

The Circle Tower of Ferelden.

Of course Maxwell knew. That's where his sister died, after all.

He rubbed at his eyelids and kept his hand there for a moment.

"The one that was overrun by abominations and demons? I've heard about it," he said simply. "The Hero saved it, didn't she."

"That she did," Cullen agreed. There was a spark of warmth in his words, but it was gone as quickly as it had appeared. "I'd never expected she would be the one to save everyone…"

"You knew her before that, then."

"Yes."

Their conversation walked into a dead end right there, even though Maxwell thought he'd heard the Commander say something else. Gradually, he returned to observing the tournament, not really interested in it.

They didn't talk anymore, and a few minutes later Maxwell quietly stepped out of the circle and returned home, hidden from eyes by the dark. Cullen didn't follow, but Maxwell suspected that he noticed.

* * *

><p><em>So he'd been there when it all happened. Why does it bother me so much?<em>

Maxwell was lying on his bed, his lower half covered by the big coat and his eyes watching the ceiling. Not much time passed since he'd left the recruits. It was probably a bad idea to escape the tournament he'd announced himself, but he supposed Cullen would take care of it. His mind wasn't in a very good state right now, anyway. He wouldn't be able to handle things like this.

The Trevelyan family wasn't exactly a happy one. Maxwell hated his parents for destroying something he really cherished. There had been four children in the family, him and his sister the youngest. They had also been the ones who rioted the most, and that kind of behavior would never leave their parents pleased. They had been forgiven every time except one, one time that made them suffer for the rest of their lives.

His sister, Edolie, had been a few years older than him, and she had been a mage. A pure flower he'd followed everywhere like the stars followed the night. So naturally, when his father had announced she'd be moving to the Circle in Ostwick, he'd told him without any thinking he would be following her. Maxwell had been clingy and stubborn, and she'd been loving and attached, so their parents decided to use their connections and send her to Ferelden instead. He was to become a templar and stay in Ostwick.

It took a lot of time for him to realize that they had been teaching him a lesson. It had never been about his sister, it had been about the Chantry. His parents always cared about the family status more than anything, and if they needed to sacrifice their mage daughter to make the other children see the futility of their desires, they would do so without any doubts. They may have loved her, in a way, but that love had been too pathetic to be accepted by the primary needs of the family. And then his sister died, far from home, alone.

Two years after her death they discovered that his older brother Oscar was a mage as well. The revelation was accidental, and his brother dropped to his knees right there in the yard and pleaded his parents to allow him to stay at home as he was too scared to go to the Circle. They called him unworthy and deceitful, throwing the fact he'd been hiding his secret all that time right into his face. After that he was moved to the Circle of Ostwick against his will and nearly died by the hands of the templars. Their elder brother barely managed to save him. Maxwell wasn't aware of what happened next.

He shook and turned to his side, drawing his legs closer to his chest.

His brothers were together somewhere, supporting each other. He didn't need to worry about them. His sister, though… He missed her, and there was no way he'd meet her ever again.

There was a knock on his door.

"Really? At this time?" Maxwell asked the visitor, perfectly aware it would be impossible to hear him from outside.

Someone picked a completely wrong time to bother him. Nevertheless, he was the Herald, and the Herald had his duties. Maxwell got up from the bed reluctantly, put on his coat and got to the door. He opened it and…

Well, he sure didn't expect to see the Commander so soon.

"What's wrong?" Maxwell asked, clinging to the door. "Come on in."

"No, I…" Cullen fell silent for a moment, looking away. "I'm not going to keep you away from your bed for long. I just wanted to ask you about something."

"Well.. okay," Maxwell nodded, feeling unsure. "What is it, then?"

The Commander looked back at him, his eyes calm.

"It's about what happened earlier."

_Great. I would love to talk about this,_ his mind deadpanned.

That was bad; the Commander had really noticed his strange behavior. He'd have to explain it now, and he couldn't. Which meant he'd have to lie, and he didn't want to, not to his maybe first potential friend since forever.

"It's nothing serious. I wasn't feeling very good, so I decided to…"

"No matter what happened," Cullen interrupted him, "you don't have to explain. I understand that you have your secrets. I have mine. They just happened to stumble upon each other."

Yes, and Maxwell ran away, leaving all the recruits along with the tournament on the Commander's shoulders. He didn't even think about how Cullen was feeling at the moment. It was so selfish of him. And he was the Herald of Andraste... Actually, no. He was selfish and_ pathetic._

"I'm sorry," Maxwell said, lowering his head.

"It's okay," the Commander answered. "The tournament was a success. It kept the recruits happy and raised their battle skill. We shall make it a habit."

"I wasn't apologizing for that… even though I should and will, right now," Maxwell felt more and more miserable with each word. "I'm sorry about leaving the tournament to you when I was the one to start it. I shouldn't have run away and left you deal with it alone."

"Accepted," Cullen answered, and judging by his voice, he was pleased. Maxwell was still watching the floor, unable to look up.

"The thing I apologized earlier for…" This one was more difficult to say aloud. "I'm sorry for leaving my work to you without thinking about you beforehand. I know I hit a sore spot back there. I just… I was way too obsessed with mine to think about it."

"…accepted," the Commander said after a moment, and Maxwell was able to unglue his eyes from the floor at last.

Cullen sighed, and then a small smile appeared on his face.

"I wish it was daytime," he said. "It's so inconvenient to ask you to come practice with me right now."

"Now?" Maxwell grinned, a warm feeling rapidly finding its way back to him. "I thought you didn't want to keep me away from my bed for long."

"Ah. That's right…" the Commander muttered, slightly embarrassed. "I guess I'll have to ask you when you return from Val Royeaux, then. Good night."

He turned to leave.

"Commander," Maxwell called. Cullen stopped and turned to look at him. "Let me grab my boots."

The day was officially saved.

* * *

><p>The following morning started extremely violently when Cassandra opened the front door and let the cold wind inside while Maxwell was still sleeping.<p>

"Wake up," she said simply but loudly, still standing at the doorstep and not even bothering to close the door.

Maxwell stirred lazily under the covers and moved them up and over his head. Sadly, that left his feet open, so in the end he still had to bring himself to a more or less conscious state.

"Close the door, please," he muttered, moving to the edge of his bed. To his relief, Cassandra did as he asked without objecting.

It had been a long evening, and Maxwell fell asleep as soon as he'd reached his bed. It couldn't have been more than five or six hours since he'd done that, of that Maxwell's inner clock was sure. He obviously failed in restoring his energy this time.

"Did something happen?" he asked, searching for his clothes below the bed. He really had to do something about that habit of his. And why was Cassandra watching him, anyway?

"We're leaving soon," the Seeker answered. "But before that, you will need to speak with Josephine. She has an important matter to discuss with you."

"Alright," Maxwell agreed, his hand finally finding what he needed. "Did she tell you what that matter is?"

"Your family," Cassandra answered, and Maxwell froze for a second.

He supposed he should have been ready for that. Josephine was a very capable ambassador, so his origins wouldn't stay hidden from her for long. She was probably thinking about asking him to find out if his family would care to join the Inquisition or help them in Val Royeaux. He'd do that himself on her place.

"I see," he said, straightening up. "I'll talk to her as soon as possible. You can leave me now if there's nothing else to talk about."

The Seeker remained standing, and Maxwell looked up to see if maybe there really was something else. Turned out there was.

"The Commander told me about the tournament," she said reluctantly, folding her hands across her chest. "It was your idea."

"It was," he nodded, suddenly nervous. "Is there anything wrong with it?"

The Seeker shook her head.

"No," she answered. "It was a good idea."

Did he just walk into another dimension again, or was she praising him? Maxwell sat there, staring at her, and Cassandra tensed visibly, avoiding his eyes. At that moment he could bet she was thinking about escaping this place before he said anything. Which, of course, made him very determined to do just that.

"You're praising me," he grinned.

"Maybe," she answered, and his grin faltered.

Maxwell shouldn't have pushed with his statement. He shouldn't have done it because it just hit him right back. He didn't expect her to actually agree. Not after being so cold to him almost all the time they'd known each other.

"I should check our supplies," the Seeker said. "Come find me when you finish talking about your family."

With that she turned to leave, her hand grabbing the door handle.

"Thank you, Cassandra," Maxwell said quietly, and the Seeker stopped for a moment. Then she opened the door and exited, leaving him alone and completely taken aback.

* * *

><p>The Chantry was almost empty when Maxwell entered; he supposed it was still very early. As soon as he reached the door he was looking for, he heard muffled voices from inside. It would probably be good to knock first. But as he raised his hand to do that, the door opened itself, and he saw sister Leliana right in front of him. Leliana blinked, puzzled, and then smiled.<p>

"Good morning," she said. "Josephine is waiting for you."

Maxwell nodded, about to say something, but she was already moving away, her steps oddly stiff. That left him puzzled.

He still needed to talk to Josephine now, so Maxwell pushed his concern aside for the time being, sighed and entered the room. The Ambassador was sitting at her table, warm light from several candles falling onto her cheeks. She was reading some paper.

"Good morning," Maxwell greeted, feeling nervous.

"Good morning," she said, looking up. Her face was serious. Somehow, Maxwell knew it wasn't going to be a pleasant conversation. "I'd like to discuss your parents."

"I'm ready," he lied. "What is it about them?"

Josephine put the paper aside.

"I'd like to dispatch a courier asking the Banns of House Trevelyan to align themselves with us," she went straight to the matter. "What are your thoughts?"

It was rather difficult to read her expression, but Maxwell noticed something odd. It almost seemed like she was… waiting for his refusal. What was the reason for that?

_Of course,_ he quickly realized._ She isn't stupid. She's probably found out everything she could about my family by this time._

"Something tells me you already know my answer," Maxwell said. There was no point in playing dumb now. She definitely knew.

"I suspect I do…" she agreed. "But it is most important to have all the advantages we can afford. As the Ambassador of the Inquisition, I had to ask. I hope you are not offended."

"I'm not." He shook his head. That was understandable. "I will try to contact my family, if you think that will help. We're not on the best of terms, and all they care about is their status. If we won't have anything to offer them, they won't listen… but I will try."

"Thank you," Josephine sighed. "And… I'm sorry to hear that."

"It's okay," Maxwell assured her, even though his chest was feeling tight. "Can I go now, if there's nothing else? We should be moving out to Val Royeaux soon. I'll write on my way."

"Of course," she nodded. "Have a safe journey."

Maxwell bowed slightly and left her chamber in a calm manner. However, as soon as he was sure the door behind him was closed, the remains of his calmness vanished. Maxwell dashed to the exit, desperate for fresh air. He almost ran flat into the Commander on his hasty way to escape.


	3. Chapter 3

Somewhere past dinner Maxwell found himself sitting on a stump, irritated, a slightly torn quill trapped between his fingers and a sheet of paper lying on his knee. It certainly wasn't the most appropriate way of writing letters, especially if said letter was intended to be read by his father later, yet sadly, a cart full of options was nowhere near his sight today. Maxwell thought about using the stump as some sort of a table but quickly understood he'd have to lie down or bend in half to reach the paper. At least the surface of his armor was flat enough.

Thoughts were not coming. He'd expected that.

What could he write, anyway?

_Hello, father. I'm with the Inquisition now. They call me the Herald of Andraste._

"No way," he muttered, rubbing his temple.

_Hello, father. I managed to survive the events at the Conclave. I couldn't return to you right away because…_

"…because they arrested and almost killed me as I'd happened to fall out of a rift; they connected it to the death of the Divine, and oh, by the way, lots of people think it's my fault the Breach is out there! So… how about joining the Inquisition?"

What was he supposed to say? His parents never sought him, they abandoned him right after the creation of the Breach – and Maxwell was pretty sure they were already perfectly aware of everything he was struggling to describe here on the paper. He'd still go right ahead, shut down his fear of rejection, swallow his pride and try to write a decent letter only to have it tossed away like a piece of rubbish.

_But no,_he told himself; before tossing the letter away his father would undoubtedly read it – such a greedy man wouldn't risk getting rid of valuable information or possible allies. That meant Maxwell had a chance. Maybe, just maybe if he'd offer something really useful for the Trevelyan family, his father would listen. But what was it? What did his family need?

_Certainly not the support of the Inquisition_, he thought grimly. After all, the Inquisition was despised for keeping the "murderer of the Divine" alive. A person who'd been greatly important for the Chantry and deeply respected by his family.

Why was he doing this, again?

Oh, right. The Inquisition needed all the help it could get.

His fingers were cold and trembled almost at the point where it would be impossible to write. Feeling devastated, Maxwell lowered the quill and looked to the side in an attempt to calm down, observing the rest of the group. Cassandra was having a talk with one of sister Leliana's agents, her arms folded across her chest tightly. Judging by the scowl on the Seeker's face, the subject of their talk wasn't very pleasant. Solas sat on a fallen log nearby, devouring some kind of unfamiliar white bread and looking happy all by himself, Varric to his left with a book in his hands and Bianca resting against his shoulder.

Maxwell was pretty sure that at some point they'd all noticed what he was trying to do, considering he'd been making attempts at it all the time. He didn't know how to feel about that, however: he was grateful for not being disturbed while dealing with such a difficult matter, yet on the other hand Maxwell was starting to think he was in a serious need of help.

The agent bowed and turned away from Cassandra, throwing a quick glance at him as she retreated to the big dusty road. Maxwell nodded in return and brought his eyes back to the Seeker only to see her approaching. A brief thought of hiding the empty paper ran through his head, but he ignored it.

"It appears we have found ourselves a new ally, albeit weak at this moment," Cassandra said, coming to a halt a couple of steps away. "A Grey Warden who goes by the name of Blackwall. He was brought to Haven a few days ago, severely injured."

"What happened?" Maxwell asked, his problem temporarily forgotten.

"He was attacked in Hinterlands," she answered. "Not much is known about his attackers, but from the heavy burns on his body it is assumed they were the rebel mages. Or demons, though no rifts were reported in that area."

"I see… Well, let's hope our healers will patch him up nicely."

"That's not the only thing," the Seeker continued. "Apparently, there is a serious problem with the Grey Wardens. They seem to be… disappearing."

Maxwell frowned. That sounded a little bit extreme.

"Disappearing? What, all of them?"

"Save one, whom we had almost lost," Cassandra nodded. "We should address the matter immediately upon our return. It may be connected to the Breach. But even if it is not, we should not turn a blind eye to it."

He nodded. The Grey Wardens certainly were weird people with all those sacred rituals and powers Maxwell had heard of; but they could stop Blights, which meant they were irreplaceable. Having them gone sounded like a lot of trouble. Add that to the Breach, with human forces greatly reduced…

He sighed.

"Wardens aside…" Cassandra swiftly pulled him out of his thoughts, "You need help with that letter."

_Oh, right. The letter._

Maxwell dropped his head into his hands, defeated.

"Looks like I can't do this on my own," he admitted, his voice coming out a bit muffled. "It's just… I don't like them. They don't like me. I have no idea what to say to them."

"I may be able to help," Cassandra offered, and he raised his eyes to look at her. She seemed somewhat uncomfortable, but confident nonetheless.

Maxwell nodded and quickly stood up, gesturing her to sit on the stump; no way he was letting her sit on dirty ground. Cassandra blinked, taken aback by this small and sudden instance of good manners, and a moment later her mouth twitched slightly, betraying a little smile. She sat down, hands pressed to her knees, and waited for Maxwell to settle beside her.

"We have to offer something useful for your family, I assume," she said once he got ready to write.

"Yes. I don't know what it is, to be honest," Maxwell muttered, all attention locked on the irritatingly clean sheet. "As far as I know, they want the Inquisition gone more than anything."

"Is that so."

He raised his eyes from the paper, watching the Seeker's perfectly calm face.

* * *

><p>Val Royeaux turned out to be a much colder place than they'd expected. Starting from the open rejection of the Inquisition, it presented the templars with their suspiciously aggressive Lord Seeker. Having made fun of Maxwell and his companions, he looked down even on Cassandra, ignoring the fact that she was a Seeker as well. He didn't try to understand the whole point of the Inquisition, and while showing his disdain for everything including Val Royeaux, he missed the cautious doubt his own men were showing. That told Maxwell a number of templars could actually be convinced, but to do that he'd have to pass the Lord Seeker first.<p>

After a brief and very unpleasant talk the templars left, some of them looking back reluctantly, obviously feeling unsettled. Whole Val Royeaux was left speechless, rays of sun and cheerful chirping of birds making the entire situation look strangely ridiculous.

"I… Is he gone mad…?" Cassandra uttered in an unusually high voice, watching them go.

"A charming fellow…" Varric added awkwardly.

Maxwell stood quiet. He was struggling not to run after the Lord Seeker, because Maker knew what he would try to do, and if he'd try to do that, the Inquisition would probably need a new Herald, because there was no way he'd be able to take down a whole bunch of armored men, doubtful or not.

And that concluded their eventful and wonderful journey to Val Royeaux.

"Ga-a-ah!"

Or maybe not.

Maxwell calmed himself down fast enough, his heart still beating unevenly from the sudden arrow that almost got his left foot. He'd thought someone was attacking them at first, but no arrows followed, and the one stuck between the stones of the road had something attached to it. He reached down and took the arrow out, ripping off a small piece of paper and unfolding it.

Someone had decided to brighten his day with vague instructions.

* * *

><p>After spending the rest of the day wandering about Val Royeaux and brooding, Maxwell found another two allies for the Inquisition. Help was definitely coming with people he wouldn't imagine want to join the Inquisition. The arrow that had almost hit him before belonged to Sera, an unpredictable and a bit unsettling elven girl who gave him a big pile of breeches as a meeting gift, laughing and adding that she'd taken them from the local guards while they weren't looking. It took little time to understand what she meant when the moment was followed by a surprise attack of guardsmen with bare legs, all of them embarrassed but obligated to fulfill their duty. Sera seemed to have lots of fun attacking the exposed parts of her enemies, pointy ends going through soft skin of their thighs, making them bleed and spasm with pain. That was the moment Maxwell realized there was more to her cheerful behavior, and decided not to make her angry. Ever.<p>

The other ally happened to be a mage, and a powerful one on top of that. Vivienne was also an authority, so Maxwell got to meet her at her party, to which Vivienne invited him herself. When Maxwell first saw her, he understood she was a woman of great taste and fashion, white silk looking perfect against her dark skin and moonlight falling on her exquisite mask, making her look not only breathtaking but also mysterious. She'd told him she wanted to join because she believed in the Inquisition and would be quite helpful to it, but he was somehow sure she had reasons beyond that. Maxwell wouldn't want to make a mage such as her irritated though, so he kept his thoughts to himself.

He'd thought that would end his business in Val Royeaux, yet as they were leaving the next day, a woman called out to him. Maxwell had already had enough of the place, but he supposed he couldn't just ignore people; he was the Herald after all. Turned out she was the Grand Enchanter and the leader of the mage rebellion. While willingly endangering her life, she'd sought Maxwell to offer the mages' support against the Breach. A bold yet impressive move. Before Maxwell could think of an answer, she was gone, leaving him with an invitation to see her and her mages in Redcliffe.

It was unnerving to know that while the Inquisition had choices, there wasn't any possibility to follow through with them all. From what Maxwell knew, the Inquisition had a chance with the mages, but since they were at war with the templars, siding with them would cross the latter off the list. On the other hand, trying to side with the templars wouldn't make the mages happy. Maxwell thought he'd probably be able to convince pieces of both sides to join him, here and there, yet the Breach was growing, and he wouldn't just have enough time to do that.

And then there were the missing Grey Wardens…

He sighed, leaving Val Royeaux behind.

The way back to Haven was uneventful, marred only by several attacks that were quickly repelled. Maxwell's companions were so deadly and perceptive they got rid of problems almost as soon as they appeared; he didn't even need to draw out his great sword at times. Everything stayed calm otherwise, and he even dozed off once, still sitting on his horse. Sera chose the same exact moment to pull a prank on him, which instantly cured his sleepy state.

Now that he had the letter off his back, all thanks to Cassandra, there was nothing for him to busy himself with, not before the meeting of the advisors anyway.

Speaking of which… He really missed the Commander. Others as well, certainly, but thinking about joining Cullen on the practice field made the day seem slightly brighter. Maxwell remembered the times they'd spent together, talking and behaving as if they'd known each other for years even if it wasn't quite so. Last person he'd felt so easy around was his sister.

_It would be great to have another tournament, _he thought. But then Maxwell remembered he had no such luxury as time, and that he'd most likely have to leave the next day after his return. There was a thought lurking somewhere in his mind that told him he wouldn't mind if the Commander joined him on his journey sometime. And why not? Maybe all he needed was to ask.

_No, that's a stupid thought,_ he quickly realized. If Cullen left Haven, who'd take care of it? He surely wouldn't ask Cassandra to do it…

"Is something bothering you?" A voice asked, making him flinch. Maxwell looked up to see the Seeker riding beside him. Had she learned to read minds while he wasn't looking?

"No, I'm just… tired," he said. It was part of truth.

"I see," she nodded. "We are almost there. You'll have your free time after the meeting."

Maxwell silently wondered if she really believed in what she'd just said.

Haven met them with open gates. Maxwell could already hear the familiar clatter and chatter from the practicing field and shifted in his saddle, eager to get off the horse and join the others. He couldn't do that right now, though, not when he was needed among the advisors.

"We need to get going," Cassandra voiced his thoughts.

"Yeah," he agreed.

After having their horses placed into the stable, the group divided: Cassandra, Maxwell and Vivienne headed straight to the chantry while the others dispersed to look around Haven. Maxwell suspected Vivienne would try to join them at the advisors' meeting at first, but as soon as they entered the chantry she excused herself and simply went to choose a room to stay in.

Sister Leliana caught up with them a moment later and told them the Grey Warden was slowly but successfully recovering, and that any healing magic would be much appreciated. There were no mages in Haven besides Solas and Vivienne, to whom Maxwell promised to talk after the meeting. Leliana also tried to convince him and Cassandra that the matter of the disappearing Wardens was extremely important only to find out they had already taken that into account.

The Ambassador and the Commander joined them just outside the meeting room. Josephine looked composed and graceful as always, her light steps hardly reaching Maxwell's ears. She was smiling, obviously happy to see them in one piece. Cullen, on the other hand, seemed slightly tired and had concern written all over his face. Maxwell caught himself watching the Commander, an uneasy feeling creeping inside and settling beside the happiness of seeing them all again.

"Welcome back," Cullen said. "I've heard it was rough in Val Royeaux. It's a shame the templars have abandoned their senses as well as the capital."

Even his voice sounded a little off.

"It was more than that," Maxwell shook his head. He supposed he would ask later. "At least we know how to approach them now. Mages as well."

"Lord Seeker is not the man I remember," Cassandra said, frowning. "There must be something going on. Something we are not yet aware of."

"True," Leliana nodded her head in the direction of the heavy door. "Come, let us talk inside."

It was colder than usual in the room. The candles on the table were unlit, making the map harder to read, and Josephine went ahead to light them.

"The Order was taken somewhere," Leliana continued as soon as she made sure the door was closed. "My reports have been… very odd."

"Odd how?" Maxwell asked, sitting down on the edge of the massive table.

"Odd like…" she fell silent for a moment. "The templars' behavior is rather strange. Some reports say they even look different. A few agents also assume there might be someone besides the Lord Seeker controlling them, but alas, they lack solid proof."

"We must look into it," Cullen said, his voice steady and firm, yet it almost came out like an order. He didn't notice. "I'm certain we will find templars who will support us."

_He's nervous, _Maxwell suspected, remembering their dialogue which happened when he'd first arrived to Haven. The templars were still important to the Commander even if he himself was a former one. Of course, there was no surprise he wanted to know what was going on, was there.

"I agree with that," Cassandra added. "Even if there is something wrong happening, I am sure we can find support if we look hard enough."

"Or the Herald could simply go to meet the mages in Redcliffe, instead," Josephine offered.

The Commander shook his head.

"You think the mage rebellion is more united? It could be ten times worse!" He exclaimed.

Maxwell silently agreed with that statement; the mages they'd met on their way back here seemed as chaotic as ever.

"We do not know that," the Ambassador objected. "We shouldn't discount Redcliffe. The mages may be worth the risk."

"They are more powerful, Ambassador, that is true. But more desperate than you realize," it looked like Cassandra was voting for the templars as well. That was hardly a surprise.

_Two for the templars. It doesn't look like we're confident yet, though._

As Maxwell was about to insert something, or maybe ask Leliana's opinion on this, all eyes landed on him, making the task ten times more difficult. He gulped.

"What do _you_ think?" Cullen asked, looking him directly in the eye.

Maxwell wasn't quite sure himself. He didn't know what to expect from the templars, but he didn't know what to expect from the mages, either. The mages seemed eager to join forces with the Inquisition, yet the Commander was right, ones he'd met before hardly knew the meaning of the word 'unity'. Well, at least they were willing. He couldn't say the same about the templars. But…

He glanced at Cassandra, who was watching him intently as well. Her face didn't betray any emotions; still, Maxwell could guess from her previous words and the way she'd been trying to talk to the Lord Seeker back in Val Royeaux, that she was deeply concerned. He looked back at Cullen and saw the same feeling hiding behind that stare.

It was decided, then.

"I think we should try finding out what happened to the templars," he said. Strangely, the words felt light to utter once he'd made the decision.

The Commander exhaled quietly, his relief almost visible. At least for Maxwell, it was. Cassandra nodded with a quiet 'good', looking a little bit happier as well.

"As you wish," Josephine said, bowing slightly.

"Let us do that," Leliana agreed. "We shall investigate their whereabouts immediately. I shall send agents to Redcliffe as well. It would be very unwise to not do so when we know where the mages are staying."

Cassandra turned to leave.

"I think that was all we had to discuss. We will wait for the agents to return, then. Hopefully, we won't have to wait too long."

She walked up to Maxwell and landed her palm on his shoulder.

"Thank you," she said, and then left.

Maxwell was so taken aback he almost missed the Commander leaving. There were still things he wanted to talk about, and now was as good time as any. As he was opening his mouth to call out to Cullen, however, a voice interrupted him.

"A moment, if I may." The Ambassador stepped beside him. Maxwell turned to look at her. "I wanted to know if the letter…"

"Is written and sent," he answered even before she finished. "Not without help, but Cassandra is a real master. I don't think anyone would want to reject such a letter."

"I'm very glad to hear it. My apologies for asking you to do that…" she stopped talking for a moment, and then sighed. "I'm sorry."

"It's alright," Maxwell smiled. "There's nothing to worry about, Josephine."

The Ambassador nodded.

"I should let you go, then," she said. "It has been a long day, you must be very tired."

"I am," he agreed.

As she walked to the door, Maxwell looked up in an attempt to find Cullen, but the Commander was already gone.

* * *

><p>At the end of the day Maxwell felt so worn out he hardly had enough strength to reach his own house. Both Vivienne and Solas agreed to help the Grey Warden recover, but they would need time to do that, so it wasn't like Maxwell would be talking to him today. That meant now was his precious free time, and he was grateful.<p>

_Just… get some sleep,_ he thought, falling face down onto the bed.

He didn't get to talk to the Commander, but he supposed the meeting ended well enough anyway. He'd have enough opportunities tomorrow.

As soon as his head touched the pillow, Maxwell shut down his thinking, cold sheets warming under his body and feeling nice and distracting. He didn't have to support his own weight anymore and didn't need to play the Herald because no one was there to see him.

The wind was blowing softly behind the walls, and Maxwell could hear muffled footsteps; all that background noise slowly lulled him to sleep. He closed his eyes and allowed his consciousness to fade.

Then someone knocked on his door.

"Why…" Maxwell whined miserably after a moment of pointless rejection, gathering all his strength to get up.

He walked to the door and opened it, ready to use all his wits to make the intruder go away and wait for the next morning at least.

"Hello, Commander," he said instead, all his irritation evaporating as soon as he saw who was visiting. "Is something wrong?"

He didn't have to ask. Looking at Cullen would be enough to understand something was going on. The Commander didn't even answer, only bit his lower lip and nodded, not meeting Maxwell's eye.

"Alright, come in," Maxwell offered, stepping away from the door.

Cullen walked in without much grace, slouching and looking like his armor was way too heavy for him to wear. He sat on a chair beside Maxwell's writing desk and leaned forward, placing his elbows onto his knees. Maxwell closed the door and sat on the carpet, looking up at him.

He'd seen the Commander not so long ago, and he seemed mostly fine, minor details aside. Now he looked like a completely different person. His skin was pale, shoulders hanging low and hair messy from the wind, which made him look extremely tired. Well, only one way to find out.

"Talk," Maxwell said.

Cullen sighed, pressing his gloved hands together.

"I don't really know how to start," he muttered. "I wanted to thank you for choosing the templars, I guess. But… as much as I want to tell you it's a good decision, I'm not sure I believe in it myself."

Maxwell nodded. He wasn't sure either, after all. The Commander's primary motivation was his faith, and he must've reached the point where the weight of his doubts turned the scale so that he wasn't confident about his views anymore.

"Truth is, I'm not sure the templars are any better than the mages," Cullen admitted. "If I look back at what happened… if I look at what is happening _now_… I don't think I can believe that the Order is in any order, so to say."

_I figured_, Maxwell thought. _You're not the only one._

"It might sound selfish… heh, I'm sure it _will _sound selfish… But I really want to make sure everything is okay there. That's why I was insisting on trying to side with them," he finally looked Maxwell in the face. "I thought that if the Inquisition considers itself… if _we_ consider ourselves capable of closing a gap in the sky, then maybe we have enough power to restore the order within the templar ranks."

"I understand," Maxwell said, although he expected there was more to it. He hoped there wasn't.

But Cullen continued.

"I didn't even _consider_ giving the mages a chance. And now I'm sitting here, and all I can think about is that I want to go there with you. I want to see for myself, want to do something. Not what I should be thinking about as a Commander who has a lot of innocent people to protect. And I…"

_There he goes._

"I've been… under some pressure lately," Cullen said, his voice rougher than before. "And sometimes I find myself thinking that maybe I jumped too high when I agreed to become a..."

He fell silent, and that was it. Maxwell waited for him to continue, but the Commander didn't seem to need or want to finish his last sentence. Okay, then.

"You're wrong."

Cullen blinked, confused.

"I'm wrong? But…"

"Cullen-" there was a brief pause as Maxwell realized that was the first time he actually called the Commander by his name. Cullen's eyes widened a little, but he remained silent. "You're thinking in the wrong direction," he added.

"How is that the wrong direction?" The Commander asked, puzzled.

"It's just… wrong," Maxwell answered, not even sure what he was trying to say. "You're good at what you're doing, and I'm sure people trust you and believe in you. As do I, and you haven't failed anyone yet. So how about we have this conversation for later? Because right now nothing is happening to make me think you're a bad Commander."

Cullen looked down at his hands again, locking his fingers together.

"You made the right decision. There's nothing wrong with wanting to help people you care about," Maxwell continued. "Besides, you're not the only one who wants to get to the bottom of this. Have some faith in me, okay? I'll do my best to bring the templars to Haven. If I'm not able to, there's no way I'll be able to help closing the Breach, and I'm damn well planning to."

There was a moment of silence between them. The wind outside got angrier, starting to wail loudly. Snow flew all around and crashed into a small window above Maxwell's table, gathering and sliding down under its own weight.

"Thank you," the Commander said, his voice lighter than before.

"Any time," Maxwell nodded.

"I guess I should get going, it's pretty late," Cullen stood up. He was still slouching, but looked better than before. "I'm sorry you had to listen to all of this."

"No, that's okay," Maxwell shook his head and smiled. "I'm the Herald, I have to help my people."

"Yeah, well… I didn't come to talk to the Herald," the Commander said. "I came to a friend."

_What did he just…_

Maxwell looked up sharply, and his eyes locked on Cullen's face.

"And I hope you will come talk to yours sometime," the Commander continued. "And by yours I mean me, because you're not getting away with that rude action back at the chantry."

"Rude action?"

"Yes. Remember the man you ran into? You could at least say hi."

"But I don't remember actually hitting you..."

"I do remember that, though."

"And I told you I was sorry-"

"No, you didn't. You just left me standing there, alone."

"I'm sure I did-"

"You didn't."

Maxwell snorted.

"Okay, I accept my defeat," he said.

"I had a talk with the Ambassador after that, you know," Cullen folded his arms across his chest. "Asked her what was wrong with you."

"What did she say?" Maxwell suddenly felt nervous.

"She told me to ask you since she had no right to tell me anything without your consent," the Commander answered. "That's what I'm doing. Asking you to talk to me sometime. As a friend."

He turned to leave, and Maxwell got off the floor to walk him to the door.

"When did we become friends?" he asked. "Don't think I'm against it, I'm not. Just curious."

"Well," Cullen opened the door and stepped outside. Wind attacked him immediately, ruffling his short hair and clothes. "You called me by my name, yes? Wasn't that the line?"

Maxwell thought about it for a moment. _I guess that's right…_he decided. But then another thought came into his head, and it clicked. _Hey wait a minute…_

"This doesn't make any sense!" He announced. "You told me you came to talk to a friend, but how can it be so if we became friends _after_ you came here?"

"Don't cling to my words," Cullen chuckled, stepping back.

As he was going farther and farther away, Maxwell tried to frown. He failed.

Looked like he wasn't the only one crossing lines today.

* * *

><p>Agents came back on the following day. It was already late, and Maxwell was resting back at his house, slowly getting ready to sleep. The day had been amazingly rich: he'd been to the practicing field with Cullen, visited his companions (Blackwall was healing up nicely but still needed recovery sleep, so getting to know him would have to wait) and then went to the tavern with Varric, having a really great time. Until Sera pulled a prank on them both, that is. No harm was done, however, and they all laughed together in the end. Maxwell got to know the bard as well, so he exited the tavern with a few new songs added to his memory. Even the mark didn't bother him that day, and he felt like he was a simple human being again.<p>

Well, up to the moment when Cassandra came to his house without knocking and told him that they would be leaving the next morning. That ruined all Maxwell's plans, but he wasn't really sad about it. He'd promised Cullen to try and bring the templars to Haven, after all.

Cassandra wasn't aware of the promise and probably took it as his eagerness to help, but it didn't really matter because she'd needed that. When she left, she looked determined.

The next morning they departed to Therinfal Redoubt, a fortress that had been empty for a long time, but the templars picked it as their new home for some reason. Maxwell was supposed to lead a group of Orlesian nobles to their very doorstep: the advisors had decided that the Lord Seeker and his templars would agree to join the Inquisition upon seeing the authority standing behind it.

The Herald of Andraste would be their talking man, so he needed to be careful. And calm. The templars seemed to believe Andraste herself saved him from his death, so it was a chance worth trying. Maxwell really hoped he wouldn't fail everyone.

Everything took an unexpected turn when they finally arrived, however; Maxwell learned that things had changed. Apparently, the Lord Seeker wished to see him in person first, whatever that meant. He didn't understand why, but there weren't many options ahead: Maxwell would have to meet the man to find the answers he was looking for.

It was raining when Maxwell reached the gates of Therinfal Redoubt, and he was nervous, even though Cassandra and Vivienne who were standing right behind him felt like the most solid defense he'd ever had in his life.

He breathed in and stepped through the gates.

First thing he saw was a lone, somehow familiar templar surrounded by a number of nobles that were quick enough to enter before him. The templar seemed bored and slightly irritated by all the attention he was getting, but as soon as his eyes landed on Maxwell, everything about him changed. He walked through the small crowd, dismissing endless offers and questions, and quickly approached the Herald.

"I'm the one who sent word to Cullen," he said, stopping right in front of him. "He told me the Inquisition works to close this Breach in the Veil."

Maxwell nodded. _That's why we came here._

"I didn't think you'd bring such a lofty company, though…" the templar added more quietly, cautious. The nobles still heard him, and some didn't hold back and made a couple of poisonous jokes. They went ignored.

"This… promise of status has garnered interest from the Lord Seeker," he continued, obviously determined to get to the bottom of the situation. "Beyond sense. The sky burns with magic, but he ignores all calls to action until your friends arrive."

"It is allowed," Cassandra frowned. "But the goal should be to restore the templars to order."

"Yes. And he has taken command. Permanently," the templar finished. Then he sighed. "The Lord Seeker's actions make no sense. He promised to restore the Order's honor, but what are we doing here is just pointless waiting. Templars should know their duty!"

He sounded confident about his opinion, and Maxwell was quite surprised and very glad to hear this. He didn't expect such words coming from a templar these days, but it was a good sign. Looked like there was a way to bring some templars back to Haven.

"A templar who remembers his responsibilities?" Vivienne noted as well. "I am reassured."

Surprisingly, the templar didn't even look away from Maxwell's face. The whole thing seemed to bother him to no end.

"Win over the Lord Seeker, and every able-bodied knight will help the Inquisition seal the Breach," he promised.

"I will try," Maxwell agreed. "But I have to talk to him at first."

The templar - Knight-Templar Barris, as he said his name and title were - led them to the courtyard. Before taking them to the Lord Seeker, however, he asked Maxwell to pass a small test - a request from the Lord himself. The test consisted of three standards; a rite, centered on people, the Maker and the Order. Maxwell was asked to choose them in a particular order, so that the Lord Seeker would understand what he considered to be of most importance.

Maxwell suspected he would be showing not only his but also the Inquisition's interests, and he cautiously asked a smart question to understand if he was right. The Knight-Templar saw right through his question, though, and told Maxwell it was only his choice that mattered. The Lord Seeker had been fixated on him ever since the nobles arrived. That sounded weird, to put it lightly.

Without taking much time to think, Maxwell picked the people first, then the Order and lastly, the Maker. He supposed that the last standard represented the Chantry as well, but he wouldn't choose otherwise even if that was the case.

After the test he and his companions were taken directly to the Lord Seeker's chamber. Knight-Templar Barris stayed with them to make sure everything went as ordered.

That's where things went south.

The Lord Seeker didn't appear; instead, another man came. He was quickly recognized by Barris as Knight-Captain Denam. As the Knight-Captain got closer, the atmosphere changed, even though Maxwell couldn't exactly point at what made it change.

"What is going on?" he asked, confused.

The man laughed.

"This is the grand alliance the Inquisition offers?"

His voice sounded dangerous. Maxwell looked to his side briefly, making sure everyone was standing at a safe distance. As he was doing it, sounds of fighting and screaming rose from the outside, making him jump. The nobles…

"The Lord Seeker had a plan, but the Herald ruined it by arriving with purpose. It sowed too much dissent," the Knight-Captain said. Coming together with the terrifying noises from outside, his words made Barris uneasy as well.

"Knight-Captain, I must know what's going on!" he demanded.

Whatever was wrong with that question, it made the Knight-Captain change from bad to worse in a split second. He turned to the Knight-Templar and hissed, his voice low and angry:

"You were all supposed to be changed! Now we must purge the questioning knights!"

"Purge..?" Maxwell heard Cassandra's voice from behind. "What does that mean?"

_Something bad is coming._

"Prepare yourself, my dear," Vivienne warned him. "This is no longer a matter of a simple talk."

The group only had a short moment to gather themselves before an attack followed. One of the nobles who'd been in the same room as them got an arrow to his face and fell first. Shocked, Maxwell got his great sword out and prepared to attack. He could hear Cassandra and Vivienne doing the same.

"Damn it," he whispered. Now there was a big chance he would fail to keep his promise.

The fight was rough. Barris sided with them, thankfully, so the damage wasn't that heavy, but Maxwell could only guess what was awaiting them outside. Knight-Captain Denam managed to survive this time, and they decided they'd take him to Haven later. There was no way he'd be able to even stand up in such a condition, and they needed all the information they could get.

Barris picked his keys and handed them to Maxwell.

"You should find the Lord Seeker and end this," he said, his voice raspy and breath uneven. "Please, don't kill the templars that won't attack you. You will need them later."

"Of course," Maxwell promised.

What came next was a bloody massacre. The templars kept appearing from all gaps and cracks of the fortress, all of them furious and almost glowing. If Maxwell looked close enough, he could see red markings growing on their skin, something he found both horrible and somehow attractive. He decided he'd think about that unsettling fact later.

There also were the other templars, ones he spared: they looked scared, but attacked their own brothers nevertheless, helping the group advance as much as they could. Those he would be taking back to Haven once this was over. Back to Cullen.

It didn't take much time to find the Lord Seeker. He was standing on top of the big stairway, facing a door with his back turned to Maxwell and the others. It wasn't like he didn't know they were coming, however, because as soon as they approached, he turned around to meet them.

Maxwell was about to confront him and end everything the Lord Seeker had started, but what came next was totally unexpected. Without losing any time, the Lord Seeker grabbed him and dragged him through the door he was previously looking at. Maxwell panicked from the sudden action and reached back to grab Cassandra's hand, felt strong fingers clutch around his wrist, pulling him back, but as soon as he and the Lord Seeker crossed the doorstep, everything faded away.

* * *

><p>When Maxwell came to his senses, he was lying face flat in dirt and grass.<p>

"Wherever this grass came from..." he muttered, trying to get up.

As soon as Maxwell got to his feet, he understood that he was completely alone. Not only that, he wasn't in Therinfal Redoubt anymore; the place seemed utterly unfamiliar. And strange. He seemed to be outside, judging from the grass under his feet and thick fog surrounding him, but it also looked like he was not, as there was no sky above his head, and pillars surrounded him, marking a straight way forward. Numerous torches glimmered dimly up ahead.

There wasn't much choice: the way back was blocked by large stones. Maxwell went forward, slowly and cautiously, trying to calm himself down. He had never tried to teleport before – that's what he assumed this was, teleporting – and he doubted he'd ever be able, considering his lack of magical abilities.

Or maybe this wasn't teleportation. Wouldn't the Lord Seeker teleport with him if that was the case?

_Or maybe he did,_ Maxwell thought grimly. He did spend some time lying around unconscious, after all.

As he made his way further, the air changed. The change was almost imperceptible, then became more and more evident as he moved on. So strange, it was heavy, but breathing wasn't at all difficult. The only thing Maxwell knew at that point was he didn't like it one bit.

A moment later he noticed the glowing that was coming from underneath the ground he was walking on. Soft and buzzing, it made him feel frightened, and he wanted to escape. But he hadn't seen any exits so far.

A couple of steps later he came to a halt. The fog crept away, showing Maxwell that no, he wasn't completely alone. Lying all around him, there were corpses. Burning and deformed, they made a horrible picture that made Maxwell gasp and clutch the hilt of his sword.

That's when he saw the Commander standing right in front of him.


End file.
